


Cold Bodies

by butterflyslinky



Category: Atop the Fourth Wall, The Spoony Experiment
Genre: Blood, M/M, Rough Sex, Technical Necrophilia?, Zombies, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Moarte/Black Lantern Spoony- they both miss having sex, so they make an agreement to do so with each other. because why not have the two undead characters get it on?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TGWTG Kink Meme.

The Black Lantern’s hands were cold.

He should have expected that, really. After all, the undead were always cold. But it still sent a shiver through him whenever they touched. And he knew that it was only going to get colder.

That wasn’t how it used to be. He vaguely remembered that before, when he had lived, it had been warm. But that didn’t matter. He had agreed to this—after all, who else would possibly agree to give him something close to a living feeling?

The undead could only be touched by the undead. Moarte accepted that, just as he accepted the cold hands moving over him, feeling and exploring; just as he accepted the cold lips pressed to his own; just as he accepted the cold voice whispering the promised to him.

He didn’t ask his partner why he had proposed this. He knew the reason. It was the same reason he had accepted. They both enjoyed being undead, but there were things about being alive that they both missed and this was one of them.

Moarte wondered if the Lantern felt cold as well, especially as their clothes were pulled away, gentler than expected, almost like the Lantern appreciated the quality of the suit and didn’t want to ruin it. Whatever the reason, Moarte was grateful—going out to buy new clothes was practically impossible.

Once they both lay bare and exposed, though, the temperature did not drop dramatically. Moarte wasn’t terribly surprised, but then the Lantern’s hands moved lower and he gasped, throwing his head back, allowing the sharp teeth to sink into his neck. It hurt, but it wouldn’t harm him. And it was good. Right, even, to have the Lantern at his throat.

His own hands moved down as well, touching every inch of freezing skin he could reach. Their bodies still responded, still grew more and more aroused, even if the heat did not rise between them. Their hips shifted, rubbing against each other, and Moarte could almost feel a spark of warmth. He moaned, his nails digging into the Lantern’s hips. It was rough, but they could be rough. There would be no permanent damage.

The Lantern growled, scratching and biting and thrusting and it was amazing, it was perfect after all this time. It was natural. It was good.

It was a revelation.

They moved as one, leaving marks, shedding dead blood, moaning and growling and shrieking in delightful tones until, at last, it was done. Their bodies arched, their grips tightened and for one, brief moment, they were warm.

They were alive.


End file.
